#187: Have A Drink On Me

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#288: Lick It Up

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As a kid back in the 1500s I remember reading how bands were formed.  I remember reading how John Paul Jones phoned Jimmy Page and asked him if he was forming a band, and if so, did he need a bass player?  Page said, sure, and mentioned how he was checking out a drummer and singer that weekend and would get back to him.  A rehearsal was set up and Led Zeppelin was formed.  Everyone got rich, famous and laid.  Queen simply formed itself; Kiss placed an ad in the Village Voice and got Ace Frehley as a result.  The Beatles were drawn together and bonded over a steady diet of violence, music, alcohol and drugs in Hamburg (where John Lennon would regularly berate his German audience, calling them “Fucking Nazis,” and Heiling Hitler from the stage during shows).  Bands were shored up on a foundation of mutual respect, if not outright friendship, the latter wasn’t always a requirement – as David Lee Roth once wrote about ...
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Some books just make you chuckle at how crazy they are - and this is no exception.  Written by our good mate Norm Barber, he of the non-flushing turds, ads written on toilets walls and Professional Bum, this tome is as hard to find as anything that he ever wrote, and with good cause.  It's not that Norm couldn't write, it's just that he had absolutely no idea of writing an impartial book.  Actually Norm couldn't write anything impartial really, I think he'd probably disagree with his own name. Norm hated, and possibly still does, anything to do with the Government and any form of social services.  Actually, I'll alter that, Norm doesn't hate the services, he loves them, after all he's lived his entire life on the dole and is a self confessed leach, but what really boils Norm's piss are the people who have to deliver those services to the likes of, well Norm Barber.  You know the kind, the world owes them everything, argumentative, arrogant, know it...
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"It Ain't Mine So I Ain't Paying It!"

I knew she'd be back in, eventually. I'd come across here previously in another office. We'd housed her for the briefest of times, months really. At no stage had she been a model tenant, quite the opposite really. In those few short months she'd not paid rent once and, even better, when she moved she amassed a huge debt because she'd trashed the place. I've seen the photos and they're amazing really. Back doors where you don't expect to find back doors, an inside door smeared with so much excreta that you'd be forgiven for thinking that it'd been repainted, standard car bodies in the yards, holes in the walls, bathroom trashed and wildlife living in the stove. She'd only left that day you can only imagine what kind of a parent allows a young child to live in such filth, filth to the point where there was a neat little pile of excreta in the corner of the child's room. "Don't use the toilet," she must have said, ...
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